


more than can be expressed

by vaudelin



Series: supernatural codas [17]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Birthday Cake, Birthday Fluff, Episode Related, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e14 Last Holiday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:29:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaudelin/pseuds/vaudelin
Summary: It’s been too long since they’ve laughed together. Since he’s had Castiel smiling at him in a way that wasn’t tinged with regret.And Dean loves it. If he could keep it like this, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: supernatural codas [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/858428
Comments: 19
Kudos: 273





	more than can be expressed

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Maria for reading it over before I could get consumed by my own insecurities and regret ❤❤❤

“—And sure, the icing was a little lopsided and the sprinkles uneven, but it still counts.” Jack’s proud grin beams even more brightly. “I got to make my first birthday wish.”

Jack gestures toward the table, at the very spot in the library where the event took place less than a week ago. Dean watches closely for Castiel’s reaction to Jack’s recounting, waiting for the nuances that normally comprise Castiel’s mood to resolve into something more overtly positive.

But rather than seem pleased, Castiel’s mouth tightens, becoming brittle. “I see,” he says, the smile he forcibly held ratcheting coolly into place. “Happy birthday, Jack.”

Jack looks over to Dean, a pleading measure in his eyes. Hell, something big must be off with Cas for even Jack to be responding to it.

Dean clears his throat, stepping closer, and slaps a hand down heavily onto Jack’s shoulder. “We would’ve waited for you, of course. But everything happened so fast, and it kinda felt right in that moment. To make a cake. And celebrate.”

Castiel nods stiffly. “Of course. I understand.” He shuffles in place. Fingers drag over the edge of the table, as if they could somehow collect icing from the long-since eaten cake.

Sam coughs, clearly uncomfortable with the silence.

Castiel smiles again, nods again. Tries again to convince them that he’s fine. But before Dean even has a chance to wonder what’s the matter, Castiel looks over to Sam and says, brusque, “I found a lead on Amara’s whereabouts.”

So that’s the end of that.

* * *

It’s a couple days later when Dean finally has a spare moment alone with Castiel, a chance to follow him into the archive room and corner him for questioning.

“C’mon,” Dean says, tugging Castiel’s sleeve to turn him around. “Something’s bugging you. Would’ve thought you’d be happy we—uh. We’re on good terms with Jack again.”

Just saying it aloud is enough to clear the storm brewing on Castiel’s brow. Judging by the way his stooped posture straightens, it’s been a worry Castiel has been carrying for some time now—one that’s been lightened by a bit of poorly-frosted birthday cake. “I am glad. Believe me. Even Sam made a point of telling me how proud he was of you for making that gesture to Jack.”

Dean frowns a bit. “Why’d he be proud? I mean, we threw him a party too. Not like Sammy’s got a lockdown on birthday bashes.”

Castiel sighs, replacing the lid on the storage box he’d been digging through. “Because I died the day Jack was born.”

A rock plummets in Dean’s gut. “Oh.” He knew that, just—somehow, he’d forgotten. Something impossible to forget.

“Mm-hmm.” Castiel brushes his hands together, gently sifting dust from his fingers. “He suspected it might be a tender point for you. That you might not want to—anyway.” Castiel stiffens. “The point is I’m glad you celebrated him.”

“So why’re you so mad?” Dean blurts, even though it’s inaccurate. Castiel doesn’t seem pissed that Dean was nice to the kid, he’s just…

Castiel sighs. “I’m not angry. I’m disappointed.”

Dean frowns. “Disappointed?”

“That I wasn’t there.” Castiel’s expression falls as he says it, puddling into a pout. Dean would say it’s cute if Castiel didn’t look so crestfallen, crushed by missing Jack’s first birthday… Well no, _their son’s_ first birthday _celebration_.

“Shit,” Dean says. “I didn’t even think you’d—shit. I’m sorry.”

Castiel sighs again. “No, don’t—it’s fine.” He shakes his head. “Like I said, I’m just glad you would do that for him.”

“We could do it again,” Dean says eagerly. “Make another cake, put a second candle on it. Catch Jack up to his actual calendar year.”

“No, it would only... cheapen it.” Castiel’s mouth twitches down. “He would know you were doing it more for me than for him.”

“Hey.” Dean steps in. With an inward delight, he says, “If you want a party, we could, uh. We could throw you a birthday party instead.”

“Me?” Castiel balks.

Dean laughs. “Sure. You don’t have an actual day, right? So pick one. We’ll make a cake.”

Castiel’s glower returns in top fighting form. “We are not celebrating my ‘birthday’.”

Laughing, Dean closes his hands over the finger-quotes Castiel instinctively made. “C’mon. We can go out, buy five or six thousand candles—”

“Dean.”

“Light a fire hazard in the library—”

“ _Dean_.”

“Burn the bunker down.”

Castiel tugs to free his hands, even though they both know he’s strong enough to simply break Dean’s grip. Dean refuses to relent, however, and ends up being pulled into Castiel’s orbit, touching chest to chest.

Castiel’s frown breaks fractionally at the sight of him, giving way to a crinkled smile that’s close enough to be captured in a kiss.

Not that Dean could—that he ever _would_. But it’s enough to keep him laughing, buoyed by the giddy feeling of getting under Castiel’s skin in just the right way. It’s been too long since they’ve laughed together. Since he’s had Castiel smiling at him in a way that wasn’t tinged with regret.

And Dean loves it. If he could keep it like this, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once Dean has calmed enough to catch his breath, Castiel asks, “So, for your birthday. Did you end up choosing a cake or a pie?”

“Ah.” Dean huffs a breath, shakes his head. “Nah, first we had Sam’s, and we didn’t have time after, so I—um. I didn’t end up having a party at all.”

“You didn’t?” If anything, Castiel sounds more heartbroken now than he did upon learning he missed Jack’s birthday.

Dean shrugs, feigning a punch to Castiel’s shoulder in order to cover how his back bristles. “I mean, if anyone besides you is in the running for too many candles, it’s me.”

“Dean,” Castiel grumps.

“Cas,” Dean snarks back.

Castiel gives that look again, the one that makes a home in Dean’s heart with more fondness than he could ever hope to express.

It’s too gentle on him; Dean has to look away. “It’s—fine. Really. Just think about it. Who’d’ve made the cake—Jack? _Sam_?” He tuts. “I’d end up with some lousy carrot cake just so he could sneak some vegetables in.”

“What kind of cake would you like, then?” Castiel asks, quiet.

Dean looks at him, shrewd. “No cake.”

“So a pie?”

“No pie,” Dean insists. “No birthday.”

Castiel makes a noise in his throat, something Dean doesn’t trust to listen to him. Castiel packs up quickly from the archives, leaving Dean scrambling, shouting, “No birthday!” in his wake.

No birthday. Dean doesn’t need another reminder how the days are getting away from them. He just needs the present, one moment laid out after the next one, in order to live a life without further regrets.

* * *

Somehow Castiel pulls a fast one on him anyways, tugging Dean into the kitchen on a night when they’re alone in the bunker, Jack in his room at the same time Sam is out on another date with Eileen.

Castiel tells Dean to close his eyes, and ends up wrapping the kitchen apron around Dean’s head when he refuses to do so. They stumble over each other’s feet until Dean bumps his way into the kitchen, hands resting on the stainless steel island between him and the sink.

“Alright, you can open them now,” Castiel says, like Dean has no idea what’s coming to him, even though the scent of freshly baked pastry hangs like clouds in the air.

Dean pulls off the apron, shucks it aside to find the kitchen neatly decorated with streamers and a line of paper letters on a string proclaiming “Happy Birthday”. A two-layered chocolate cake sits atop a silver serving tray. Next to it is a fork and a knife with a paper napkin, the stack of which is tucked in neatly beside a freshly-baked apple pie steaming in a glass pie plate.

“You never gave your preference,” Castiel says. “So I got you both.”

“Sonofabitch,” Dean breathes, staring at the sugary feast. He flicks his gaze toward Castiel, uncomprehending. “You made these yourself?”

“Kind of.” Castiel awkwardly adjusts his footing. “Crack an egg. Open a tin can. Unpack the pie crust.” To the cake, he says, “Spread an entire jar of icing over a mound of spongy chocolate.”

Dean laughs, watching as Castiel pulls a generous pre-cut piece of cake and pie onto a paper plate. He ushers Dean over to the dining table, adding, “I hope I did okay,” as he hands Dean the cutlery, watching nervously as Dean tucks in for his first bite.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean says, grinning up at him around a chocolate mouthful. “You did great, just… why?”

Castiel frowns, puzzled. “For your birthday.”

Dean inhales sharply. The cake tastes like it’s been baked exactly how the side of the box describes it should be baked—and yet it’s somehow extra delicious from the effort being made. He wipes his mouth, puts his fork down. “You didn’t need to—I didn’t need you to do that for me.”

“I know,” Castiel says, irritatingly calm. “I wanted to. To celebrate… you.”

He motions broadly over Dean, catching the entirety of him in the gesture, and that soft spot in Dean’s chest throbs at the sight of Castiel, squeezing his breath out of rhythm. He wants to brush it off, treat Castiel’s celebration like it’s nothing. But if there’s one thing he’s learned lately, it’s that he’s got to appreciate the life he has around him. If they don’t take the time here and now to care for each other, then what has this all even been about?

“Thank you,” Dean says instead, reaching for Castiel. He brushes a hand down Castiel’s sleeve, squeezing. Allows his hand to travel lower, seizing his palm in a tight grip, hoping it might say what all cannot be said. “Thank you.”

Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand in return, muscles flexing like he doesn’t know how long he ought to hold on. Dean’s almost disappointed when Castiel lets go, allowing him to return to his fork and his plate of desserts.

But then Castiel’s hand brushes up along the plane of Dean’s back, fingertips scrubbing over ribs and muscles and bone before settling gently at the top of Dean’s spine. Dean involuntarily shivers at the feel of him, the fingers brushing over his scalp. Through his hair. It’s been so long since he’s been touched by Castiel in the way he always wants it. In any way that matters.

Castiel has to know. He has to know how this last fight—this last makeup—is different, somehow. They’re different. A bond has been remade in Purgatory, never to be broken again.

It’s been years and Dean still doesn’t know how to say it. Maybe he’ll never know how. But action… Action is better than words anyhow. Dean knows how to make a gesture, even if he doesn’t know how to accept it.

Dean leans into the hand Castiel has set to sifting through his hair. His body twists in its seat, moving until Castiel is close—closer. He slings an arm around Castiel’s hip, pulls him down. Hauls him between the open vee of his legs until Castiel can only sit on Dean’s thigh.

So he does. Castiel comes to rest alongside Dean’s body, an arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulders for balance. He’s warm—aligned with Dean, perfectly. Close in ways that Dean has never allowed anyone—anyone—to be with him.

Dean keeps his hand slung around Castiel’s waist, holding him near, even as the proximity means he has to switch hands in order to keep eating pie and cake. Castiel takes it all in stride, in that quiet way he has of observing Dean and enjoying him, even when Dean loads up a forkful of cake and insists Castiel take a bite.

“Gotta know if your handiwork is any good,” Dean gives as his excuse for making Castiel eat it. Tipping his head against Castiel’s shoulder, Dean watches as Castiel thoughtfully chews his way through the cake, then the pie. No commentary given, just the two of them communicating by touch and sight.

It might not be his real birthday, but it’s the best gift Dean’s ever been given. Perfect enough that he doesn’t even startle when the quiet in the kitchen is broken by Jack.

“There’s another cake?” Jack exclaims, excited enough that Dean can hear it in his voice, even though he can’t see him.

Castiel makes to stand, ready to step back, but Dean keeps his arm tight on his waist and just swivels them around. They’re angled enough that Dean can now see Jack, oblivious, reaching for a slice of cake.

“Hey,” Dean barks. “It’s too late at night for you to be eating sweets.”

Jack stares at him, disbelieving. His gaze shifts implacably over Castiel, then Dean, then the empty paper plate. Dean braces for some comment about how they’re holding onto each other, but Jack just says, “There’s no candles.”

“What?” Dean asks, at the same time as Cas, sighing, says, “Don’t start on the candles. It’s a very touchy subject.”

“But—your birthday wish,” Jack says. “You didn’t make one.”

“Oh.” Dean glances up at Castiel, feeling the weight of him, the warmth of him. Close enough to kiss.

He thinks briefly of his brother, out on a date of his own. Of their communal kid, accepting them without judgment.

Dean scrunches his nose, shakes his head. “Don’t need to make one. I already got everything I want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable on [Tumblr](https://vaudelin.tumblr.com/post/631631093576122368/more-than-can-be-expressed). Thanks for reading!


End file.
